


Hindsight is 20/20

by Archangel67



Series: Destiel Week 12 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5x04, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-11
Updated: 2012-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 19:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archangel67/pseuds/Archangel67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel reflects on traveling with Dean to find Raphael.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hindsight is 20/20

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Destiel Week '12 / Challenge Word: Epiphany (March 11th)  
> Occurs during 5x04: Free to be you and me  
> There are probably typos because I didn't have time to edit this completely.

It was somewhere between Hartford, Connecticut and Windham, Maine that Castiel realized two things. One – he really didn’t enjoy riding in a car, even when that car was a shiny black 1967 Chevy Impala. No matter how comfortable the cracked leather seats were or how appealing the mingled smell of gasoline and gunpowder, a car was a very small space to be confined to for hours on end.

Two – his feelings toward Dean Winchester were becoming increasingly difficult to reconcile.

If he had known what he knew now, there was a possibility that he would have refused to fulfill what had been asked of him. They were important – both of the Winchesters – but Dean was to be the Sword of Michael. The arch angel’s one true vessel. That the older brother had been designated to Hell because of his own short sighted decision to sell his immortal soul was something of a problem, given that the Host of Heaven _needed_ Dean alive.

No, who was he kidding? Castiel had never disobeyed an order in his life. His brothers said jump and he jumped. History had seen him commit far worse atrocities than pulling one idiot hunter out of the pit and reconfiguring his battered, broken body cell by cell until he was no longer a chunk of meat rotting in the ground. A soul needed a shell and Dean’s had been torn apart. Perhaps that was why Castiel had been put on the job – he was diligent and detail oriented. Some other angels may have given the hunter the wrong number of freckles or brown eyes instead of green.

Not that it mattered what color the Sword’s eyes were. Not to the Host anyway.

Even if he had wanted to say no it would have been an impossibility. Castiel had rebelled because of Dean Winchester, not in spite of him. It was still all very new and, on some levels, painful. It was difficult enough being locked up within a vessel, however willing Novak might be. His Grace being crammed inside of this fragile, brittle prison was far less unsettling than having to severe his connection to the Host.

After millennia of static voices, whispers in the airwaves, there was now only a heavy, rather frightening silence. It was like missing a limb. Castiel felt _less than_ , and he knew that over time as he remained an individual instead of a piece of the greater whole, his Grace would begin to dwindle.

Dean hadn’t asked him to do this. He had done it because it was necessary to keep him safe.

The older Winchester had demanded that they drive, if he was going to be part of what he kept referring derisively to as a “wild goose chase” despite the fact that Castiel assured him that no water fowl were involved in any way. Tracking down Raphael was both dangerous and unavoidable. Of all of his brothers, Raphael was the most coercive. He may have been the one who oversaw the comings and goings of the Watchers, but he held little interest in humans himself.

Hours of listening to Dean’s slowly warping cassette tapes, sunk down low on the leather bench seat gave Cas a new appreciation for his much swifter form of travel. Yet again he contemplated how miserable it must have been to be forced to walk or drive everywhere. If he had been allowed, he would have had the two of them to Waterville in a matter of seconds. But Dean was in poor spirits since he had gotten into (yet another) fight with Sam and was working on his own.

It was around midnight, somewhere just over the Maine state line, when the hunter had decided that he couldn’t make it any longer without refueling.

“Something for Baby and something for me,” he said, smothering a yawn with the back of his hand, flicking on the high beams as they hit a thick patch of trees that surrounded either side of the stretch of old, rarely used highway. “S’long as that’s alright with you.” The last bit was added with a quirked eye brow, having noticed the slightly disgruntled expression settling onto Castiel’s scruffy face.

“We could have been there already if you had just let me…”

“Look, dude. Woulda coulda shoulda – you’re going to give me brain cancer with all of that angel mojo zappy shit. That meat suit of yours might hold up alright, but you’ve gotta remember I’m only human, man. So cut me some slack, huh?”

In the rare times when Dean actually mentioned his vessel, even in passing, Castiel could feel Jimmy’s disapproval. Generally the man remained quiet. At times, when things were dangerous, the man’s human instinct got the better of the angel and left Cas feeling on edge or even queasy. There was a reason why he had never bothered to take a human vessel before, in all of his long years. They were tempestuous. Novak had invited him in, had invited him _back_ , but he wasn’t really all that pleased about it.

“Fine,” Cas mumbled. “Food. Gasoline. Back on the road.”

“Thanks. Glad I have your go ahead. You’re just a real peach to work with, you know? Christ. You really need to loosen up, man. All that stress’ll kill ya one of these days.”

“Doubtful.”

“…It was a joke.”

“It wasn’t amusing.”

“Says you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but straightened his spine as he spied a bright neon sign up ahead. It said “EAT 24-7” which Castiel thought was a poor name for a diner even if it was a very to the point description of what the establishment had to offer. It was a small truck stop, well lit and surprisingly busy despite the middle-of-nowhere location and the time of night. It took the hunter all of five seconds to park, slide out of the car like he was made of liquid, and bolt for the door. Castiel followed at his leisure and Dean was already beaming up at a middle aged waitress with permed hair and chipped finger nails.

“Coffee. Definitely Coffee. Burger with everything on it. Fries.”

The woman smiled and nodded, pen to paper as she watched Castiel slide jerkily into the booth opposite Dean. When he remained silent, her smile faltered and she raised her eye brows. “How about you, honey? You gonna order?”

“I don’t eat,” he said shortly.

Dean grimaced. “He means he ate earlier. Why don’t you just get him coffee too.”

“You’re awful skinny,” the woman said in an attempt to make conversation and failing miserably. “We have some real good pie. Six different types. You sure I can’t get you a slice?”

Before he was able to refuse, again, the hunter kicked at him under the table and flashed the waitress another smile. “I’m sure if you bring it, it’ll get eaten. Why don’t you surprise us, uh… Cindy?” Green eyes flitted to the little brown name tag on her blue uniform. It wasn’t until she walked away that Dean’s gaze dropped to Cas and he narrowed his eyes.

“Really.”

“What? I don’t eat. It would be a waste of food,” he said almost defensively.

“Can’t eat or don’t _want_ to eat?” Dean asked, his glare softening to something more curious.

“Does it matter?”

“Well you’re still human. Sorta.” He motioned to Cas vaguely. “Last time I saw Jimmy he was pretty damn interested in stuffing his face. Maybe you should try thinking of your vessel like a dog. Y’know? Feed him from time to time. Take him out on… walks or something.”

“Walks.”

“You know what I mean.” Dean sighed. “Or maybe you don’t. Whatever. Just… eat something. It’s not going to kill you and you’ll look a hell of a lot more normal if you manage to stomach a cup of coffee and some pie instead of sitting here like some sort of weirdo just watching _me_ eat. It’s creepy, dude.”

“I don’t believe that anyone is paying attention to what I’m doing, Dean.”

“Well I am. So do it for me, at least.”

“…Alright. But just for you.”

They say that hind sight is twenty-twenty. Would he have done it all again if he had known was lay ahead? The physical pain and the mental anguish and the crushing uncertainty of not knowing whether he was actually fighting for the right side? Was it worth forsaking his family, all but destroying himself to protect one deeply flawed mortal man? Worth giving up _everything_?

No matter how bad things became, his answer would always be yes.


End file.
